I don’t know what he does, but his is the best I’ve had since my grandfather died, and old man O’Neill knew his stuff, so that’s saying something.

So, when Daniel offered to make some for the annual holiday party, I took him up on the offer.

He seemed happy to be contributing something, so I grinned at him and said I’d be honored to have the first taste. He smiled back, and some of the awkwardness he’d had about him lately slipped away for a moment. It was good to see that, and I hope we see it more soon. The uncertainty around him is hard to take sometimes. Granted, I really can’t blame him for not being sure of himself. I can see how coming back from the dead could have that effect. Heck, I’m not sure how to act around the guy half the time, and I’m not the one with the Swiss cheese memory.

So I agreed to be his very-much-willing guinea pig.

And here I am.

Daniel stares at me expectantly, and I tip back my glass, anticipating the sweetness I remember so well.

A moment later, I’m swallowing thickly and trying not to sputter. I manage, though I’m not sure how.